


I love you louder

by fav_littleleaf



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Thunderstorms, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You've been warned, really not kidding about the tooth-rotting bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fav_littleleaf/pseuds/fav_littleleaf
Summary: A collection of Flufftober prompts, not in October, and not every day.ch 1: El convinces Erik to get out of bed. Shenanigans ensue.ch 2: Erik has a special surprise for El, which Jasper may or may not be fond of. Dundrasil AU.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 32





	1. Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> y’all I just discovered the existence of a thing called Flufftober and I HAD to have a go. I don’t write enough fluff. 
> 
> I wrote most of this curled up in bed and listening to rain-forest sounds on youtube (because my soul lives in the PNW but I don't). chronic fatigue gang rise up
> 
> update:  
> now with art!!!!!!! [by the amazing puffinpastry!!!](https://puffinpastry.tumblr.com/post/635625242937737216/a-scene-doodled-from-fav-littleleafs-fic-i-love)

Erik never thought his favorite place would be somewhere quite like this.

Rain dances on the windows, and thunder sings its praise. Little rectangles of ambient light splay across a deliciously crinkly cotton duvet; the kind that he twists his fingers into with the same satisfaction as a sheet of bubble wrap. But the better part is what the duvet doesn’t cover: El’s body, laid out in front of him like a treasure more precious than he could ever steal.

He doesn’t really think he deserves this, yet here it is anyway. Soft and pliant and almost taunting in its simplicity.

El lies across from him, trailing lithe fingers across Erik’s cheek, dipping down to his neck and shoulders. Goosebumps raise everywhere he touches. Crisp flashes of lightning illuminate El’s bare skin, curved and supple in all the best places.

“It’s _cold_ ,” El complains. “Will you close the window for once?” 

Erik laughs softly. El knows full well he won’t, not when warmth can so easily come from other places. He draws the duvet up to El’s shoulder. El snuggles into it, pulling the soft material up to his cheeks so only one eye and a patch of disheveled hair peek out at Erik.

“Oh, come on. How am I supposed to admire your beauty now?”

“Looking isn’t the only way to admire.” El waggles his eyebrows.

“I just _admired_ you for the entire evening,” Erik protests, but he obliges anyway, shuffling forward to pull El in close. 

El smiles against his collarbone, and the feeling of his lips there burns bright. “I love you,” he whispers.

Erik sighs. “Love you, too.”

It’s not the first time they’ve said it, nor the first time they’ve slept together, but the exchange dislodges something inside him every time. He’s not used to love wanting to stick around. Granted, he usually runs first, but that’s just for protection. It’s better that way. El would kill him for admitting anything like that, so he doesn’t. 

Erik focuses on the feeling of El’s fingers stroking his skin under the blanket, soft and muted against the cacophony outside. He finds El’s other hand and tangles their fingers together. 

“Are you okay?”

Erik closes his eyes. “How much do you love me?”

El’s fingers still in their trail down his arm. He doesn’t answer, and Erik doesn’t look at him.

“Sorry, that was silly. I know it’s a lot.”

Instead of the touch resuming, he feels a dry kiss pressed to his forehead. El’s lips stay there as he speaks, his breath ghosting across tender skin. “Do you want to go outside?”

“What? _Why?”_

Erik likes to do crazy things as much as the next person — probably quite a bit more, to be honest — but leaving this bed in favor of a _thunderstorm?_ That’s new heights of insanity.

El just draws back to look at him and smiles mysteriously. “What, can’t take a little rain? What happened to your seafaring days?”

He growls. He will not be challenged, and El knows it.

But before he can retaliate, El is up on his knees, tearing the duvet off and destroying their little sanctuary. Erik jerks up to tug on his wrist, but he’s already bouncing off the bed.

“Last one out has to top next time!”

Erik chases after him, fully intent on a tackle. He slows down to grab some swim trunks from the floor, pulling them on awkwardly in a one-legged hop. It probably costs him the win, but he secretly doesn’t mind ravishing El until he’s a begging mess. 

And besides, it’s something to focus on when El’s too afraid to answer his question about love with the truth: _not enough._

But then he throws the front door open and the water hits his face, and none of it matters anymore. He sprints into the downpour, letting it wash away everything he wishes didn’t exist. It’s just him, and nature, and the call of night, beckoning him into its embrace.

He spots El at the edge of the yard, his arms held up to the sky in supplication. Erik tackles him with zero remorse. El only stumbles momentarily before he shoves back, perhaps harder than he meant to, because it sends Erik careening into the vegetable garden.

Before long they’re shouting at each other, running and giggling as the rain soaks them to the bone. The night frolics with them: tall grass sways in the wind, cicadas sing their lullaby, tree branches creak and groan and drop leaves with abandon. Shoving turns into softer, slower touches — they can never stay away from that for long — and Erik’s hand trails to the small of El’s back.

“Dance for me, Ellie.”

El captures his hand, and they dance; the rumble of thunder is their bass drum, each clap of lightning their cymbals. Rivulets of water cascade down their faces and chests. Erik feels his soul fly. It’s a special kind of freedom, one that he often forgets during the onslaught of daily life.

When they slow down, panting and soaked through, El leans in to press their foreheads together. The new stillness feels strange. Erik sucks in a deep breath, feeling the anticipation as if they’re touching for the very first time.

“I love you more than there are raindrops falling from the sky,” El whispers.

Erik’s throat constricts without his permission. He tries to reply, but no words come out.

“I love you louder than the thunder in our ears,” El continues, pulling his body in closer with one hand. His other hand brushes a lock of Erik’s hair — stubborn even in a downpour — behind his ear. Erik leans into it. The wetness on his face is just rain.

“And I love you brighter than the brightest lightning.”

Just then, it strikes somewhere in the sky, illuminating Yggdrasil’s domain in the most brilliant display he’s ever seen. It’s like everything’s on fire all at once, burning hot and _alive_ despite everything that tries to smother it.

El smiles at him, way too smugly, and leans in to press soft, wet lips to his own. 

“Is that enough?” El whispers against his mouth.

He can only weakly nod. El leans down, and before Erik catches on to what he’s doing, he’s being hoisted up into the air, flailing for purchase. His arms find El’s neck, and he’s safe again when he tucks his face against El’s chest.

“You’re such a goddamn sap,” Erik mutters. It’s the only way he can express the way El’s ridiculous love tapes all of his insides together and makes him feel like he’s floating, even more than the water does.

“Only the sweetest sap for my little tree,” El replies, and kisses him again.

He finds he doesn’t mind at all.


	2. In the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a special surprise for El, which Jasper may or may not be fond of. Dundrasil AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello greetings salutations, earthlings of most beautiful descent,  
> my name is fav and I’m depressed so I write utter nonsense fluff about bois who are hopelessly in love to help me deal with it
> 
> peeps who care about serpent’s soul: I haven’t forgotten about that I promise! just taking a bit of a break. I’m finishing up a fic in another fandom, then working on a DQXI holiday fic for one (1) little sis, then hopefully gonna dive back into it!!
> 
> anyways, this is very unedited and I have no explanation for how ridiculous this is, but ENJOY ANYWAY<33\. for context, Erik and El are in a fairly new relationship at this point.

“ _Erik_ ,” the prince of Dundrasil whines at his unexpected visitor, a blush rising high on his cheeks. “I told you not to do that.”

The day has been too long already, lined end to end with meetings and strained smiles where he doesn’t care to give them. His back aches and all he wants is to slide into the cool embrace of his sheets, cradled by the light of the full moon already high in the sky. The only thing that expects nothing of him.

At least, that’s how he’d been feeling when Erik had arrived at the castle in his usual manner: hopping in over the second windowsill with a dramatic flourish. He’d dipped seamlessly into a bow, sinking to one knee. The edges of his corsair’s coat pooled around him, its gold trimmings gleaming in the moonlight. The light also shone a bit too beautifully on the distinctive blue shade of his hair, falling over his head as it, too, bowed for El.

“Your Highness,” he’d whispered, low and rough.

It’s really not fair that the sight of him like that makes El want to press him against the wall and kiss him until that voice turns into little more than a breathy plea.

Erik raises his head and grins, a bright and wild thing. It makes his insides do little somersaults. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

“I don’t,” El mutters, and turns away from him.

Erik is quick to rise and catch his wrist. The touch sends goosebumps up his skin; it hasn’t been long since they’ve met last, but it feels like every separation carves out more of his heart. And every reunion tapes it back together, with just a little more than had been there before.

Erik steps closer. He smells like sea and cinnamon whiskey. “You’d turn away your favorite pirate?”

He wouldn’t, but the problem is that Erik’s shenanigans are the exact sort of thing that prevents him from getting what he wants during times like these. Namely, sleep. Sometimes those are pleasurable distractions, but holy Yggdrasil do those pillows cry out for him, even in their silence.

“Depends. You going to let me sleep?”

“I may or may not have something special to show you.”

El laughs, unable to stop himself. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Don’t laugh. I’m trying to be romantic here.” Erik grins, and his grip slips down from his wrist to take hold of El’s hand. His fingers are cold after traipsing around who knows where in the dark, but El doesn’t mind.

He sighs, feeling himself relenting against his will. “It can’t wait ’til morning?”

Erik just takes one more step into him, lifting his arms to rest at El’s waist, his chin tilting ever so slightly up to look at him. The pout he wears is unfairly adorable. “It can wait as long as I can wait to kiss you,” he whispers.

He’d do most anything for Erik just to see him smile, El thinks through a warm haze. To his deep misfortune, Erik knows this.

To his fortune, Erik doesn’t mind it if he cheats a little sometimes in his pursuit of that smile, so he allows himself the indulgence — just the single one — and brushes their lips together in a ghost of a kiss. Erik tastes sweet, like something he can’t name but is achingly familiar.

When they break apart, El pushes him gently on the shoulder. “This had better be good, captain.” 

♫

Erik tugs him down the hall by the wrist, ignoring his protests to be quiet. He has a lot of meetings tomorrow, too, and one of the knights finding out he’s wandering around this late would not be a happy occasion. With Erik, no less. Unmitigated disaster.

The moon casts angular swaths of light down the length of the empty hallway, illuminating ficus trees and steely sets of armor that watch over their silent domain. The light, in turn, creates shadows that rush to fill the gaps between windows. He wants to draw Erik into one of them and kiss him; let the light surround them but still be hidden themselves. 

It is, at least, surely better than whatever special surprise he has that _apparently_ needs to be this far within the depths of the castle.

Hold on…

“How do you even know where you’re going?” 

Erik slows down and twines their fingers together, looking back at him. “Sorry, does it look like I know where I’m going?”

“What?” Horror washes over him for a split second _(he’d literally just given up warm blankets to follow Erik on a wild goose chase through Dundrasil castle?)_ before Erik’s face breaks into an ear-splitting grin. 

“Relax —”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence before El is on him, tackling him to the ground with a labored grunt. Erik doesn’t resist, just laughs and lifts his hands to El’s chest, trying to give him a playful shove.

“I am going to kill you,” El mutters, but it comes out fond.

“Mm. At least kiss me first?” 

Before El can lean down, the heavy _clank_ of steel-toed boots assaults their private silence.

Both of their gazes snap to the source of the sound; but no one has appeared in the hallway yet. 

El leaps up, pulling Erik with him. “Through here,” he mutters, angling back the way they came, dragging them both through an alcove hidden behind a menacing-looking suit of armor. 

They stay silent for a moment, pressed together against the wall, ears on edge for further movement. His heart beats high and loud in his throat and the shadows seem to twist in anticipation.

But then the footsteps fade. El’s grip on Erik’s waist softens.

El exhales the trapped air in his chest. “Why do I feel like I’m on some sort of reconnaissance mission?”

“Would ‘you are’ be an acceptable response?”

“Absolutely _not_ _—_ ”

Erik huffs a quiet laugh and turns them around, pressing El gently against the wall to the side of Mr. Armor. A leaf blade from one of the ficus trees grazes his arm. 

“A mission to make your favorite person happy, then,” Erik whispers.

Confirming would be too much of a stroke to his ego, so El just kisses him, lifting a thumb to brush against his cheek. He luxuriates in Erik’s smile and exhales a soft breath when Erik’s arm curves up against the wall, caving them in to their own little safe haven in the shadows. 

“If that’s what you want, might I suggest going back to bed?” El murmurs against his lips.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this that easy.”

El rolls his eyes and tugs on the collar of his coat. “No rest for the weary.”

Erik just smiles and brings his hand over El’s on his chest. His fingers are warm now. “Listen, I’ve, ah, been meaning to tell you —”

“No rest for the weary, indeed."

A perpetually disgruntled-looking knight with steel-toed boots and unfairly pretty blond hair stands in front of them, crossing his arms. El breaks into a coughing fit as they both inch out of the alcove, caught red-handed in their… reconnaissance mission. 

Erik presses a hand to his lower back and speaks for them. “Good evening, sir, your lordship,” Erik says, his voice distinctly cool. “I hope it’s a pleasant evening on your rounds?”

The only indication Jasper gives that he’s heard him is an impatient flick of his long, sleek bangs. “I presume one of you can explain why there is a massive puddle of blue _slime_ in the middle of the dining hall?”

El attempts to process this normally — cycling from _what_ to _is that fun to slide in without socks?_ — then he catches Erik’s perfectly blank expression and descends into laughter.

Erik elbows him in the gut. “I don’t believe so, sir. I’ve just arrived this evening.”

Jasper just glares at them like they are the utmost of distaste. “What, then,” he demands, “are you doing out of bed?”

Finally straightening up after consecutive attacks from coughing and laughter, El nods solemnly. “Nothing, we’ll go back now, and we’re sorry about the —”

“We’ll do no such thing!” Erik declares, and pulls him by the sleeve past both Jasper and fake-suit Jasper. He takes off into a run, and El has no choice but to follow, looking back at Jasper with a desperate look that he does his best to communicate: _I really don’t know who this kid is —_

“King Irwin will be hearing about this!” Jasper shouts down the hall after them.

El runs after him, barely managing to avoid tripping in his haste. There’s more light in the halls now, as the moon strikes them from a higher angle. They’re reaching the courtyards soon, where all the winding corridors lead. “You- are —” he pants, “absolutely _mad.”_

“We’re almost there,” Erik says cheerily. He takes El’s hand when he finally catches up, and they enter into the lush green foliage of the courtyard together. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Your parents already know about me.”

“I don’t want to _advertise_ you!” 

El about crashes into him when he finally stops in front of the entrance to a dense cover of sugar maples, lined on the sides with shrubs of some description he’s never bothered to name. It’s one of his favorite spots in the castle: a place where he can hide among the flowering hibiscuses and blueberries that he can pluck and eat when a few too many people are yelling at him.

“I see how highly you think of me.”

He isn’t looking at El, and his tone is too ambiguous to tell if he’s teasing or not. Panic clutches tightly at his chest. “Erik, that’s not what I meant, you know I love —”

Those aren’t the words he meant to choose; his jaw snaps shut.

“Sorry?” Erik turns to him with a wide, bright grin.

“— blueberries. Have you had any recently? Really sweet this time of year.”

Thank Yggdrasil, Erik doesn’t push, even though he’s sure his face is bright red. Erik just smiles wider and nods his acknowledgment of blueberries. “You haven’t tried the huckleberries, then?

“What? What huckleberries — I don’t even know what those _are_.”

“Come on,” Erik says and waves him on. They traipse through a clump of blueberry bushes (he can’t resist swiping a few), further even than El tends to go when he’s trying to hide. He has the sinking feeling that “huckleberries” are a sharp-jawed monster Erik thought it would be fun to fight, or something wildly dumb, like an engagement ring studded with rubies (stolen, of course). 

He really should have stayed in bed.

Just when he’s sure they must have circled around to exactly where they came in, he hears a growl. Not really just a growl — like, a lot of growls.

Oh, Yggdrasil, it’s a _lot_ of monsters.

He drops Erik’s hand, spinning around to check every direction he can manage, but sees nothing untoward. Just trees, branches swaying gently, the grass scratchy under their feet, hibiscuses in full bloom nestled proudly among jagged-tipped leaves. 

“Erik, if you don’t tell me _exactly_ what is happening here —”

“Don’t draw your sword, you fool.” His voice is laced with fondness, but he’s turned away from El. He kneels in front of two hibiscus shrubs that lean shyly against one another, and gently pries them apart. El kneels too, deeply suspicious.

Then he catches a glimpse: it’s a tiny, mewling pack of silver sabrecubs.

He can’t count them for how many they are, and for how curled they are around each other, so that he can’t tell where one’s spots begins and another’s ends. Most of them are asleep, with soft, sloping chins tilted into each other’s fur, but three of them lie awake. One, the largest one, looks happily up at Erik with bright blue eyes. The fluffy tuft of hair along its back matches the color of Erik’s, exactly. It’s almost unnerving in its resemblance.

El is too stunned for a moment to speak. He watches Erik cradle one of the small, sleepy ones; the cub blinks up at him slowly and utters a soft whine. The mother — he assumes — gazes at both of them with a fierce pride. 

Then questions bombard him all at once, none of which Erik is likely to answer.

 _“Why?”_ is the first one he manages to speak.

One of the other awake cubs has noticed El; it inches towards him on tentative paws. This one’s coloring is different from the others — its hair is fiery red and fur burnt-gold, but it has the same blue eyes as the others.

“They, ah,” Erik says, finally looking at him, “followed me here.”

“They _followed_ you?”

Erik fixes him with a serious look, but it’s dampened considerably by the wriggling cub in his arms. “Would I mess with you about this?” 

“… _Yes?”_

He has the decency to look sheepish, and rubs his hand along the back of his neck, a little mannerism that El has always found endearing. The sight of him like this, surrounded by little balls of fluff who all share his hair, sends him into inexplicable peals of laughter. He doubles over with the absurdity of it. He’d been expecting — well, he didn’t know what he’d been expecting, not with Erik.

But he has to admit it’s better than a ruby-studded proposal. 

Erik does not find it amusing. “They’re _sleeping,”_ he hisses, not looking up from them.

“Alright, alright. Gods, Erik,” El breathes. He had never seen Erik be quite like this before: _tender_ , protective. He knew Erik had a little sister, but had never met her, and, well, a pirate ship isn’t exactly a place one goes for tenderness.

“I was in Sniflheim before this, alright? They’d just had a bad time of it — I couldn’t just _leave_ them there.”

“Okay, but I can’t take care of a dozen sabrecubs, Erik.” He probably could, better than Erik could on a pirate ship with no reliable access to food or non-alcoholic beverages, but that is _not_ the point. “And what’s with this one?”

The red-haired one has completed its journey to El. It waves its tail insistently, staring at him with large eyes until he envelops it in his arms. The fur is unbearably soft and smells of sun-soaked grass.

“That one showed up during the… altercation with the slimes. In the dining hall.”

El has to take a deep, controlled breath at that one. “I… don’t even want to know.”

Erik looks at him and smiles, and this one has none of the bravado or flirtiness that his other ones had; this one is just Erik, as he is, and El feels himself fall in love for the fourteenth time. Erik leans in to kiss him, with their arms both full of cubs.

“Well?” he says. “Name him.”

“What? This one? I’m not —” The little one snuggles closer into him, burying his face into El’s elbow and exhaling a sleepy sigh. “ _Erik_ , this is not okay.”

“Come on. Have a go.”

“Fine.” El would cross his arms, but he can’t exactly without waking up the cub, so he doesn’t. “I suppose he’s a huckleberry, isn’t he?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got a blueberry,” El says, reaching out his spare arm to brush the hair of Erik’s cub, “and I’ve got a huckleberry.”

Erik laughs, possibly louder than El had laughed earlier, and he almost drops… _Blueberry._ “Who’s the absolutely mad one now?”

“Well, they’re mine now, so, you have no control over my naming rights.”

Erik doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps laughing, and then El does too. They laugh until they’re in a pile on the floor, surrounded by piles of the bluest, fluffiest cubs either of them have ever seen; they laugh until Jasper’s horrified squawk wakes the entire castle, and they can’t find it in themselves to care.


End file.
